


the pleasure the privilege is mine

by ships_to_sail



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Blow Jobs, David Rose is Thirsty, Dressing Room Sex, Episode: s06e04 Maid of Honour, M/M, Patrick Brewer is Gay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-29
Updated: 2020-01-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:21:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22470046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ships_to_sail/pseuds/ships_to_sail
Summary: "I need you to do me a favor, and there’s an entire case of wine in it for you.” She looks at him, eyes wide and shining and it’s very, very clear that something is up, but before she can talk he presses his index finger to her mouth. “I swear to God if you do not speak, I’ll double it. Distract Alexis, give me ten minutes, and two cases of wine are yours.”
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Comments: 13
Kudos: 283





	the pleasure the privilege is mine

**Author's Note:**

> It's all [lilbitalexis](http://lilbitalexis.tumblr.com)'s fault (thanks for the beta m'dear)

The minute Patrick walks back through the paneled wood door of the dressing room, a timer trips in David’s brain. He pulls Stevie aside as she tries to sit, plain black tie clutched in her hand.

“I need you to do me a favor, and there’s an entire case of wine in it for you.” She looks at him, eyes wide and shining and it’s very, very clear that something is up, but before she can talk he presses his index finger to her mouth. “I swear to God if you do not speak, I’ll double it. Distract Alexis, give me ten minutes, and  _ two  _ cases of wine are yours.”

“Good wine?” She raises an eyebrow and he does a frustrated little wiggle, but she’s got him and he knows it. The timer behind his eyes ticks up, and he grunts. 

“Yes. Fine. Not the special stock, but otherwise, any wine you’d like.”

“Ten minutes? Aren’t we optimistic.” She licks the edge of his finger, which he had foolishly left within reach of her mouth, and he shudders.

“Hey Alexis! What do you think about cufflinks?” David’s voice is loud and just on the edge of shrill but Alexis’s head shoots up immediately, her eyes bright.

“Love them! Stevie, why don’t we look together.”

Stevie is still looking at David, and her voice is monotone when she calls back, “Love to.”

So fast it seems like god damn witchcraft, Alexis is standing right next to David, looping her arm through Stevie’s and walking down the aisle towards the accessory wall at the back of the store. David watches them go, counting steps until he judges them to be a reasonable distance away.

He slips the dressing room door open without knocking and Patrick spins with a little gasp that David wants to suck out of his throat and swallow like candy. “David!”

His eyes go wide as he takes in Patrick, tuxedo pants draped over the chair, black boxer-briefs clinging to every part of his tree trunk thighs. His ass is thick enough David can see it facing Patrick head-on, and the reflection in the mirror behind Patrick — miles of pale skin, freckled and scratched and mottled with the blush Patrick hasn’t been able to stop — makes his mouth water. 

Patrick’s got all of the shirt buttons undone, but luckily for David, for both of them really, he’s still wearing the jacket. David crosses the dressing room so fast it’s just short of a run, pressing into Patrick’s space like he’s drowning and Patrick is the drink. 

“C’mere,” David says, his voice practically a growl as he reaches out and wraps one hand around the velvet lapel of the black jacket, threading the other into Patrick’s hair and pulling his head to the side so he can lick into his mouth. Patrick is surprised, and doesn’t quite get his mouth open in time, so it’s kind of making out and kind of a mess of teeth and tongue and it’s sloppy and no where near David’s best work. But they’re on a schedule and David’s been waiting to see the man he was going to marry in a tuxedo from the first Vogue Bride snippet he’d pasted into his wedding dream book. He just didn’t ever expect it to be on a man like Patrick. 

It takes a second for him to catch up, but then Patrick is kissing him back, pressing back into David until they’re doing a vertical, silent wrestling, fighting for control of a kiss that’s getting hotter and hotter with each passing second. David pulls back for a second and smiles, nipping at Patrick’s bottom lip, and Patrick’s breath starts in his chest, a broken, soundless little thing. 

“You are perfect,” David says, the sweetness of his words at war with the rough way he’s palming Patrick through the damp spot on the front of his underwear.

“So are you. You liked the tux?”

“It’s fine,” he says, reaching down to tug on Patrick’s balls through the fabric, giggling a little as his eyes roll back in his head. “Yeah, I like the tux. I fucking love the tux. I love fucking you in the tux.”

“God, David, yes,” Patrick says, letting his eyes close as his head rolls heavy on his neck. He leans forward and presses his forehead into David’s shoulder. “Not really — not really wearing much of it.”

“Oh, you’re wearing enough. Spread your legs.” 

Patrick does, and David sinks to his knees, letting his hands trail over Patrick’s waist, his hips, the thickness of his thighs and carved, muscular curve of his calves. He drops his jaw and licks Patrick’s cock through his underwear like a god-damned lollipop and feels something warm spark inside his chest at the way it makes Patrick’s hips buck. “This okay?”

“Yes, fuck,” and it’s maybe not a fair question because David’s inching Patrick’s underwear down over his erection as he answers, and his voice goes high and needy and thin. “Just — the deposit—”

“Of all the people you’d have to lecture about come stains on dry-clean only wearables? _Please_." 

And then he’s swallowing Patrick, wrapping his lips around the thick dick of his soon-to-be husband. Patrick is leaking precum, and the musky, rich salt taste of it explodes across his tongue and into the back of his mouth. He swallows on the taste out of instinct, the rolling pressure making Patrick fuck up into his mouth again. David makes a little humming sound of assent and Patrick does it again, his hands tentatively coming down to rest on David’s head. David wraps his hand around Patrick’s wrist and maneuvers his hands to the back of his head and taps him, once, on the inside of his wrist. And then, he lets him go, and Patrick lets himself go and fucks David’s mouth with abandon. 

David relaxes his throat and concentrates on breathing through his nose and watching Patrick from underneath his eyelashes. He’s biting down on his lip so hard David can see the white little half-moon and he wants to reach up and smooth the spot but his arms aren’t  _ that  _ long and he can’t stop now, not with Patrick this close, the tendons in his neck standing out as Patrick gets ready to come in his mouth without making a sound. 

David drops a hand below his mouth and opens his jaw a little wider, letting a mixture of spit and precome drop onto his palm, He smoothes it over as much of his hand as he can before reaching around and ghosting a finger over Patrick’s hole. He doesn’t push, knows that little bit of spit isn’t enough lube for even that much, but he rests a finger right on the rim, so that each time Patrick fucks into his throat he gets a little more pressure on the tight knot of muscle. It’s a fucking launch button, and David knows it, and not three thrusts later Patrick is letting out one long, low “fuck” as he comes down David’s throat. David drops his hand and concentrates on swallowing down every drop of Patrick. He keeps Patrick’s dick in his mouth as it begins to go soft, letting his tongue dart and flick and dance around Patrick until he’s shivering from oversensitivity and petting David’s head like he’s not fully in his body anymore.

David stands slowly, hands on his knees as he lets the blood come flowing back into his lower body. He wipes his hand on the back of his mouth, keeping eye contact with Patrick as he does. Patrick, whose blush has deepened from pink to scarlet, who is looking at him with blown pupils and a heaving chest and a very, very wrinkled tuxedo lapel. David reaches out to smooth it down and Patrick catches his hand, pressing a kiss to the center of his palm.

“Thank you for that.”

“Thank you for marrying me.”

“David,” there’s a note of warning in Patrick’s voice, but David just presses his hand against his chest.

“I’m joking. You’re welcome. Just — promise me you won’t let me do that on our wedding day.” Patrick’s hand joins David, pressing both their palms into the soft flesh above Patrick’s heart, which is slowly returning to a normal rhythm. His eyebrow raises in a look that he must be inheriting from David, who laughs. “Okay, not before we go down the aisle, anyway.”

“That’s more like it,” Patrick says, tugging on David’s wrist until he takes a step forward and kisses him, tasting like joy. 

“Mmm, okay, well you need to finish getting dressed and I’ve got to go relieve Stevie from maid of honour duties before she actually thinks she’s picking out your cufflinks.”

“How much did you have to promise her to make this little rendezvous happen?”

“You really don’t want to know.” Patrick just laughs and kisses him again before swatting him on the ass and pushing him out the door.

“You’ll be the death of us both, David Rose.”

“But what a heavenly way to die.”

The door swings shut with a chuckle and Patrick muttering something about The Smiths. 

And in the end it doesn’t even matter that it ends up costing them three cases of wine when Alexis turns out to be in on the whole thing — “Please, David, I dressed both Hemsworth brothers, like I don’t know about dressing room sex” — because they leave with a maid of honour, and cuff-links, and more memories in the fabric of Patrick’s wedding tuxedo than most couples awaiting the happy day. 


End file.
